Prodigal
by Folle
Summary: Conspiracy, Carol, Cajun. "She'd made a bad decision, choosing the Brotherhood over the X-Men." Romy.
1. Chapter 1

_The short: Basically takes off after episode 8 ("Time Bomb"). French phrases and their translations will be found at the bottom of each chapter, in the order in which the phrases appeared.  
_

_The long: Because WatXM is a limited series, my characterizations will most likely resemble a mixture of all X-Men incarnations, and because canon is a loose term in the Marvel Universe itself, you can expect the same here. The WatXM-verse had the jumping point I needed (Rogue on her own, Remy not with the X-Men), so that's why I've chosen it. I have a reasonably good idea about where this fic is going, but I have no idea how long it'll take to get there. If you have questions about length, time table, content, etc., let me know._

* * *

Prodigal

Chapter 1

* * *

Remy stood in the dark shadows, watching the rain pour down in torrents from the overhang he was standing under. He took a long drag from the cigarette he was smoking and blew the smoke out into the rain, watching it dissipate. He was getting impatient, but he remained where he was, his posture languid and relaxed where he leaned against the wall.

The harbor was generally deserted this time of night, which made it all the easier to make out the sound of footsteps under the pounding rain. Remy smiled, flicking his cigarette away.

"Gambit, I presume?" a voice questioned. A man of average height emerged from the shadows. His features were unremarkable in every way: brown hair, brown eyes, small nose, thin frame glasses that were slightly fogged.

"_Enchanté_," Gambit bowed slightly before raising his head. "_M'sieur…_" he allowed his voice to trail off.

"Carter," the other man supplied.

Remy nodded.

"De job?"

"Yes," Carter replied smoothly. He removed his glasses, pulled a cloth from a pocket, and wiped them clean. When he replaced them, he looked Remy directly in his glowing eyes. Remy waited for the telltale flinch. When it didn't come, he raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

Carter reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila folder.

"Missing person," he summed it up. "You find her, bring her in, you get the money. Nothing more, nothing less."

"How much?"

"Five hundred thousand."

Remy whistled lowly.

" 'Nothing more, nothing less', neh?"

Carter's face remained blank as he adjusted his glasses once more. Remy shrugged and reached for the folder.

"Pleasure doin' business, _M'sieur_ Carter."

Carter relinquished the folder with only a slight pause.

"There is one stipulation."

Remy grinned.

"Always a catch," he agreed. He tucked the folder into his overcoat.

"She can't be touched."

* * *

Rogue woke with a start. Putting a hand to her chest to calm herself, she listened quietly. The abandoned buildings the Brotherhood favored for hidey holes didn't give much privacy, and she'd be mortified if Toad or Blob saw her vulnerable like this. But she heard nothing and sensed no one. She let her breath out slowly.

She'd been having intermittent nightmares for a few weeks now, ever since the X-Men had taken Nitro back from the Brotherhood on their way to Genosha. The nightmares were always punctuated with the innocent mutant's desperate pleas and then screams as he blew again and again, recharging endlessly. Before long, her dreamscape would be destroyed, be it city street or MRD facility or isolated iceberg. But the terrible part was that after the destruction, there was always the vision of Logan walking away from her despite her apologies and attempted explanations. He never stayed long enough to hear her out, as if as far as he was concerned, Rogue's fate was sealed.

Rogue sat up in her bed, tucked her legs under her Indian-style, and fiddled with her blankets.

She knew why she was having these dreams: she'd made a bad decision, choosing the Brotherhood over the X-Men, but it wasn't a decision she felt like she could reverse. It was for the X-Men's benefit, after all. She knew they had something in the works, something big, but she still didn't know what it was. If only she'd held on to Toad a little longer… No, no. It was bad enough as it was to have his slimy thoughts pop up occasionally; she doubted she could handle any more of them.

She rubbed her temples in slow, methodical circles, trying to calm her mind, trying to think. Although she admitted that it had been slightly gratifying to give Logan a taste of his own medicine, deceiving the X-Men had a left an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth even though she had done it for them. Unfortunately, they didn't know that, and she couldn't tell them without risking exposure. So, in order for her to be able to make amends—to even have a chance at regaining their trust—she had to make sure her information was solid; she had to have something to offer to them, evidence that she hadn't betrayed them for nothing.

The problem was that Pietro didn't trust her completely. She got the bare minimum in information, wasn't in on the planning, and was sometimes even left out of the execution—unless they needed her to suck information. It was frustrating and starting to grate on her nerves, but she supposed she didn't have anyone to blame but herself. She'd gotten so soft, she reflected, while she'd been with the X-Men. She shouldn't have protested so much about Nitro; if she'd played the obedient soldier Mystique had trained her to be, Pietro would have had less reason to question her. However, that was one of the reasons she'd stayed with the X-Men after leaving Mystique. The Professor's dream let her feel—she could be upset about the injustices in life without being bitter, and she could do something about it. Not in the revenge-driven, selfish way that Mystique wanted to settle the mutant question—by taking out anyone who didn't agree with her prerogatives—but with diplomacy, with reason, with nobility.

Unfortunately, the professor was gone, and so with him his dream. Because, it seemed, no matter how they all felt individually, it had been Xavier's convictions that kept them all together. Without him, she supposed, they were all still doing the best they could, but it was so messy.

Which brought her back to where she'd started.

She lay back down and put a hand over her eyes.

The Brotherhood was using her, she knew it. She had expected it—she had just planned to use them as much in return. Too bad it wasn't working out like she had hoped. She sneaked as much as she could, which wasn't much. Pietro was suspicious enough already; she didn't have much room to maneuver unless she outright pulled from him what she wanted to know.

There were drawbacks to that: Pietro wasn't smart enough to be doing this on his own. Someone else was pulling the strings, and she was willing to bet that whoever it was was keeping him on a need-to-know basis only. If she found out whose orders Pietro was following, maybe that would be enough for the X-Men. She was sure that if she took his mind, his contact would be easily found; she just wasn't sure how useful that information would be by itself.

Rogue shook her head, not willing to take that much of a chance. She wanted to be sure. As part of her ruse, Rogue had harmed innocent people, used them like tools. She had to make sure it wasn't in vain.

She turned on her side and curled up, bringing her knees to her chest. The quiet all around her was stifling to some part of her. She closed her eyes and focused on the minute sounds of air whistling through the cracks in the walls of the dilapidated building.

_Storm_, she thought absently as she shivered. The more she concentrated, the more she could feel the wind outside.

She opened her eyes abruptly and shook herself. She'd invested herself in this; she had to stay until it was finished.

* * *

Remy LeBeau smiled at the blonde waitress sauntering towards him with a fresh pot of coffee.

"Refill, suh?" Her voice was velvety smooth and matched her looks.

Remy smiled and inclined his head. He knew he should say something flirty and fun, but he couldn't make it come out. He had been all prepared to, as he'd watched her approach from behind his reflective sun glasses, but as soon as she had opened her mouth, his mind had blanked.

Her accent was all wrong, reminding him forcefully that he was, in fact, in Charleston, South Carolina and _not_ in New Orleans as he had been pretending.

The waitress smiled coyly when she finished pouring the coffee, so Remy winked at her, almost by reflex. She rewarded him by adding an extra oomph to her gait, her sashaying hips quite the show as she walked away. Remy watched her at the counter for a moment, but even her _belle visage_ wasn't enough to distract him from the bitterness welling inside him at the thought of New Orleans.

He forcefully pushed away thoughts of sultry jazz clubs, voo-doo, and the _vieux carré_ . He couldn't go back, and that was the end of the story. After all, that's what banishment meant, wasn't it?

To distract himself, he pushed his thoughts to the proposition that had brought him to Charleston in the first place. It was a simple job—a package delivery, basically, and the pay was phenomenal. That was what made it interesting: he couldn't see any reason for a girl being worth so much. It also made him suspicious: clearly there was more going on then what he'd been told. The manila envelope hadn't even contained a picture of the mark, just a first name, a brief physical description, a projected list of residences, and the delivery address.

His gut told him it was a risky job with so many unknowns—he didn't even know who he was working for. Carter was just the message boy for whoever was shelling out the money, that much was clear.

He took one last sip of his coffee before standing. Remy threw some cash on the table, leaving a generous tip for the blonde, almost as if he wished to make up for the fact that he was leaving without saying goodbye to her.

He muffled a sigh when he reached his bike. How he was beginning to hate being on the move. While he had always been a free spirit, always craved action, he resented being forced to it. Especially now, with the MRD openly hunting mutants. Before, it had never been much of a problem because he'd always had the Guild to back him up, to hide him, to watch out for him. Now, no longer. He was on his own.

Remy cursed silently to himself as he started his bike. It roared to life immediately, ever sensitive to his touch, and the rumbling engine gave him some comfort. He shoved thoughts of his banishment away and focused on the road ahead of him.

* * *

"I don't know… it sounds risky."

"Rather than making excuses, Pietro, perhaps you should be brain storming how to accomplish this."

Pietro hesitated, frustration rising inside him.

"I don't trust her. She won't go along with it."

"_Make_ her go along with it."

"Why is it so important?"

"Do not question the Cause, my son."

Pietro did not reply.

"If you're incapable of handling this quietly," the voice continued, smooth as steel, "I can send Wanda to do it for you."

Pietro winced, glad his father wasn't there to see his expression.

"No, no. I can do it."

"Don't disappoint me again," the voice retorted harshly.

There was a click, and Pietro knew the conversation was over. There were never good-byes in these conversations, just orders and veiled insinuations about his worthlessness.

_Not this time_, Pietro promised himself. He was being given a second chance after the incident with Nitro, and he wasn't going to mess it up.

* * *

Translations

_Enchanté_ literally 'enchanted,'a formal way to say, "Pleased to meet you."

_M'sieur _[_Monsieur_] mister

_belle visage_ pretty face

_vieux carré_ French quarter


	2. Chapter 2

Prodigal

Chapter 2

* * *

The pulsing lights and throbbing bass weren't really Rogue's scene, but any place the Brotherhood wasn't had started looking good, even this underground club that catered to mutants and criminals. Logically she knew it wasn't the smartest place to hang out; surely the MRD knew about it—or would soon—and would come storming in to shut it down and drag the mutants away. And yet, there she was, alone at the bar, sitting at the far end to avoid the crush of people dancing, drinking, and flirting. Of course, some of it was a ruse: alliances and contracts built and bought intermingled with the alcohol and the blatant overtures of some of New York's seedier citizens.

_If yah can call a mutant a citizen_, Rogue thought bitterly. The MRD's tactics were getting more and more aggressive, and the Brotherhood's activities seemed only to fan the flames. _Which would be the point_, she reminded herself darkly.

The more she thought about it, the more Rogue realized how rash her choices had been. She'd forced herself in between a rock and a hard place, and the outlook was more and more bleak. If anything, she supposed she could leave the Brotherhood and strike out on her own if the X-Men wouldn't take her back. She paused at the thought, remembering the last few years of going solo. She knew she was capable of it, but it was a lonely existence.

_Face it, sugah, and move on_, Rogue scolded herself. After all, she couldn't change the past, much as she wanted to, so it was best to just forget about it and get out, while she still could. Or better yet, figure out a way to get the information she needed.

The loud music didn't make it particularly easy to think up a plan, but there were enough people that she felt anonymous, and that helped ease her fears.

Lately, Rogue had noticed Pietro giving her odd looks when he thought she wasn't looking, as though he knew what she was planning. His behavior made her paranoid. Had she been thinking aloud and he'd heard? Did he have Psylocke spying on her thoughts? Supposedly, Betsy and the Brotherhood had parted ways after the incident with Nitro, but maybe that had been a front. Maybe Quicksilver wanted his team to think she was no longer around so they'd let their guards down.

_Ridiculous,_ Rogue chided herself. _He's fast, not smart._

Still, there had to be a reason. Rogue was sure she could figure it out, and if she didn't, she needed to be gone before Pietro could do whatever it was he was planning. She didn't trust him.

So where to go? She thought of Mississippi but quickly dismissed it. It was probably too close for comfort. Besides, it held too many memories, memories Rogue had been running from long before the X-Men took her in.

Outside of Mississippi and the X-Men, Rogue didn't have connections to any place, so she figured it didn't matter where she went, as long as it was far enough away that her past wouldn't catch up with her. She finally settled on California. It was big enough, populated enough, that she wouldn't stick out so much, and she'd heard that San Francisco was particularly tolerant of mutants. And it'd be warm, or at least warmer than New York.

Rogue stared at her drink. She hadn't actually had that much of it—it was more for appearances' sake than for pleasure. Alcohol robbed people of their inhibitions, and Rogue could only imagine how dangerous that could be for someone who couldn't touch.

She looked to the undulating crowd but didn't sigh. She'd given up hope on being normal a long time ago. Nevertheless, she couldn't keep her gaze from sweeping the room as she turned back to her drink.

Her eyes settled on someone she'd never seen before—more and more of a rarity with how much time she'd spent here lately.

He was standing at the bar, talking with the bartender. He was tall, wearing a floor length leather duster the likes of which she'd never seen. The coat didn't completely hide his form, and from what she could see, he was all lean muscle. He had brown hair, tinted slightly red, that was just long enough in the front that he had to shake it out of his eyes every so often. His profile was well-defined, and she found herself studying the line of his jaw.

Suddenly he was looking right at Rogue.

She turned back to her drink, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at having been caught staring. Rogue took a sip of her drink and feigned nonchalance, making herself pretend like she didn't feel like a teenager who'd just had a note intercepted by the wrong person.

She didn't dare glance back his way to see if he was still looking at her, but in her peripheral vision it looked as though he'd gone back to talking to the bartender.

Rogue relaxed after a minute or two and glanced at her watch. She should probably leave soon, or Pietro would be suspicious when she got back to the Brotherhood's hideout. Without moving her head, she flicked her eyes in the direction of the man in the trench coat. He was still there. Rogue cursed under her breath—she really didn't want to walk past him, but she had no choice, unless she wanted to wait for the man to leave. Rogue checked her watch again. Considering how late it already was, she didn't want Pietro to have any reason to question her. Still, if she waited just a few more minutes, maybe the man would leave, or at least move away from the bar. Arguing as she was with herself, she didn't notice the man's approach until he was already there.

"Like what y' see, _chérie_?"

"Excuse meh?" Rogue stuttered, thrown off by his sudden presence at her side when she'd been sure he was still at the other end of the bar.

The man smirked arrogantly. Up close, Rogue could see a day's worth of stubble smattered across the lower half of his face, but what really caught her attention was his eyes: black sclera, red irises, and black pupils. The red irises glowed faintly.

_Definitely a mutant._

"If y' wanna touch, _chère_, I don' mind," the man added with a disarming smile, and Rogue realized that she'd been staring again.

She frowned, annoyed at the insinuation in his tone and angry at her own apparent lack of self-control.

* * *

Remy took off his sunglasses the moment he walked into the club. They would look odd considering the dim lighting, and he didn't need them here anyway. Mutants were expected.

He made his way to the bar, winking and smiling at the appraising looks he received. One especially forward blonde blew him a kiss, and Remy blew it right back.

"Jake," Remy hailed the bartender as he approached.

"Remy," the bartender returned. "Usual?"

"Not t'night. M' workin'," Remy answered.

Jake raised a brow in reply. Remy laughed.

"_D'accord_. But jus' one," he stipulated.

"That's what I thought you said," Jake replied as he poured Remy a glass of bourbon.

Remy took the glass Jake set in front of him, sipping at it occasionally as he looked around the room. Most everyone he could see was part of the regular crowd. Remy had come here often enough to know them by sight if not by identity. The blonde who'd blown him a kiss tried catching his eye again, but Remy really was working.

"Didn't expect to see you back so soon," Jake commented. Remy shrugged.

He hadn't planned on coming back to New York so soon either, but his plans had changed a lot in the past few months.

"New York's good f' business," Remy offered. Jake nodded.

"I'll bet," Jake replied. Then he leaned towards Remy conspiratorially. "Word on the street is that you've taken a contract with the Brotherhood." In response, Remy shrugged again, smiling enigmatically at the same time.

It had been such a perfect set-up: he'd found out the girl was with the Brotherhood, so he'd let drop a few hints with the right people. Quicksilver had taken the bait, and now he was going to be paid double for the same job, because it just so happened that the Brotherhood was headed towards Seattle. The coincidence was not lost on Remy.

"If I didn' know better, I'd think y' were fishing," Remy remarked, glancing to his side. He'd felt a pair of eyes on him, and from the corner of his eye he saw a woman sitting alone at the other end of the bar. He looked back to Jake, who rolled his eyes.

"If you _are_ working for them, then you should know they don't keep anything secret. Their boss, that Quicksilver guy, is cocky as anything. Likes those big, splashy headlines."

"Aw, Jakey, y' worried about me?" Remy mocked, his head cocked to the side and a hand at his chest.

"You know what I mean, man," Jake replied, not offended in the least.

And Remy did. He didn't have to say that the Brotherhood wasn't his usual client—they were loud, unprofessional, and liked to draw attention to themselves. If Remy had still been with the Guild, he never would have touched them. Of course, if he had been with the Guild, he would have no need to go to Seattle, either. He figured he might as well make as much money as he could. Beyond that, there were contacts he hoped to make in Seattle that could possibly help him with his problem.

_Beggars can' be choosers_.

Jake didn't add anything else, so Remy decided it was time to discover who'd been staring at him. He turned his head and caught the eyes of the brunette at the other end of the bar. She shied away immediately, obviously embarrassed.

Remy scrutinized her as she nervously tucked white and brown bangs behind one ear. She was slim, and her outfit covered her neck to toe, hands included. Remy quirked an eyebrow at the distinctive X on the sleeve of her jacket. Now where had he seen that before?

_Wolverine_.

So she was an X-Man, was she? Interest piqued, Remy turned back to Jake.

"Th' _femme_ at th' end of th bar," Remy inclined his head in the brunette's direction, "she come here often?"

Jake grabbed a rag and started wiping down glasses.

"Couple of times a week here lately. Polite, but not friendly." Noting the look on Remy's face, he added, "I seriously doubt she'd be interested."

Remy smirked. A woman's disinterest never lasted long where he was concerned.

"But I guess you'll see soon enough—she's part of the Brotherhood."

"_Really_ now," Remy murmured. So she was the mark, his ticket to Seattle, and an X-Man. He wondered why that part had been left out from his current employer's description.

All of his information about the X-Men had come from Zane when she contracted him to steal the power suppressant collar. Subsequent observation as he had prepped for the job rounded out what Zane had given him: the X-Men were basically forceful mutant peace-keepers, idealistic, secretive, and very powerful with impressive resources. In other words, they made the Brotherhood look like a group of amateur teenagers with attitude issues. Remy was certain that there hadn't been any information about the brunette in the X-Men files, and he was determined to find out why. If she'd defected, Remy was curious about the circumstances. He couldn't imagine Wolverine letting one of his own slip away only to end up with the X-Men's rivals, no matter how incompetent those rivals were. Maybe there was more to the Brotherhood than met the eye.

Swallowing the last of his bourbon, Remy focused his attention on the brunette.

_Might as well get started._

"Welcome back," Jake muttered, shaking his head as he reached for Remy's empty glass.

Remy didn't hear him, or at least didn't acknowledge the comment, intent as he was on making his way over to the brunette.

She didn't notice him coming. Stepping up close and into her personal space, Remy spoke.

"Like what y' see, _chérie_?"

Remy swelled in triumph when she practically jumped with surprise. She tumbled awkwardly off the stool and away from the bar.

"Excuse meh?" Her voice was little more than a squeak, but Remy didn't care. Things kept getting better and better—her voice held hints of the South.

"If y' wan' touch, _chère_, just to make sure s'real, I don' mind," Remy couldn't help but add, flashing his most charming smile. He put out his arm for her to take, a courtly gesture he could pull off only because of his upbringing steeped in tradition. He waited to see how he would react, remembering his employer's warning to not touch.

The woman's cheeks pinked and her green eyes flashed before she frowned slightly. Then she smiled maliciously.

"Ah'm sure you _would_ mind," she retorted sarcastically.

"_Mais non,_" Remy assured her.

She snorted, emerald eyes sparkling with annoyance. Remy leaned in closer and caught scent of her hair: magnolias.

"What say I buy y' a drink, _hein_?" She hadn't taken his arm so Remy cupped her elbow as if to lead her back to her stool.

As he expected, she froze momentarily, like a deer caught in headlights. Remy could feel the muscles in her arm tense and he let go her elbow.

"Ah ain't interested," she insisted, pushing away from him. Remy noted that her cheeks were still flushed, but that the corners of her mouth had dropped into a frown. He stepped back a bit, curious at how skittish she had suddenly become. He kept up his teasing tone, so as to not drop pretenses.

"C'mon, _chérie_. Would be a lot of fun, _non_?"

"Are ya deaf? Ah said no, ya slimy swamp rat!"

Smiling lazily, Remy held up his hands, palms forward. _Ok, don't touch th' mark._

"_D'accord,_" Remy conceded, "_Je peux espérer demain, si tu veux._" He didn't entirely move out of her way, however—he wanted to see how far she'd let him push. The brunette eyed him expectantly, yet still Remy barred her way. Finally she pushed past him with a huff, obscenities on her breath. She didn't look back.

_See you in th' mornin', _chère.

* * *

"Long time no see, Chuck."

"Hello, Logan."

"So, what world-disaster-averting mission ya got for us now?"

"Nothing like that."

"Well?"

"It's personal, this time."

"Personal?"

"Logan, it's about Rogue."

"…"

"Logan?"

"I'm listenin'."

* * *

Translations [Special thanks to Louisiana State University's French Department's website for help with _expressions cadiens_]

_chérie_ term of endearment derived from _cher_ (precious, dear, expensive)

_chère_ term of endearment derived from _cher _(precious, dear, expensive)

_Mais non. _Of course not.

_d'accord_ ok

_femme_ woman

_hein_ huh

_non_ no

_D'accord. Je peux espérer demain, si tu veux._ Ok. I can wait for tomorrow, if you want. (_espérer_ is specifically Cajun French)


	3. Chapter 3

Prodigal

Chapter 3

* * *

When Rogue woke the next morning, she had a distinct headache. Not from alcohol—she had had hardly any. Rather, it was a headache that told her she'd been having dreams that weren't her own. Because her first thought when she had opened her eyes had been confusion about her… _lackluster_ surroundings, she deduced them to have been Warren Worthington II's dreams.

She lay still, trying to find a reason for the sudden assertion of his personality. Rogue couldn't remember what his—or were they hers?—dreams had been about, so she didn't know if something she had done that had sparked an answering call in the rich man's recollections. That had happened before: a smell, a word, or a sound sometimes evoked memories that weren't hers, but not knowing what memory had been triggered, she had no way of pinpointing the trigger.

Of course, she contemplated darkly, it could have been something else entirely. It could have been that her head was getting so full of voices other than her own that she couldn't suppress them anymore. She had absorbed more people in the past two months with the Brotherhood than she had in the entire year before that.

Rogue shuddered. If overcrowding were the case, she didn't want to think about what that could mean. It was bad enough that she occasionally couldn't remember who she was after taking someone else's mind into her own. She hated to think what would happen if that kind of disorientation became more frequent.

Possibly in denial, she told herself she couldn't rule out other possible reasons: her guilty conscience working overtime at the psychic blocks Professor Xavier had helped her build so long ago, her nagging sense of loneliness, or her consistently high stress levels over the past few days.

Rogue told herself it was probably the stress. Or rather, she hoped it was the stress. It wasn't unreasonable, after all. The rising animosity with Pietro, the constant drain of mistrust, the incessant feeling that something bad was about to happen—all of it had her wound tighter than a coiled spring; the tension was bound to relieve itself someway.

Just when she had convinced herself it was the stress, a treacherous voice in her head (her own?) whispered that maybe it was just because of that Cajun jerk that had gotten too close last night.

Rogue threw her covers off, still angry about how things had played out the night before. The man with the red eyes had been so sure of himself, and he had reminded her of all the things she wanted but could never have. For that she hated him, despite the fact that in his world he was just another guy and she another girl. He had gotten unnervingly close, too close. He had scared her, she realized. She didn't want to absorb anyone else, accidentally or otherwise and he had been so near…

Rogue shook her head to rid herself of her thoughts. It didn't matter; she wouldn't be seeing him again. She stood from her bed and ran a few fingers through her hair. Grabbing her uniform, she pulled it on.

She would have to make an appearance soon, to keep up pretenses. Besides that, she was getting hungry, and if she didn't make it to the Brotherhood's fridge before Blob, there would be nothing left to eat.

Rogue made her way to the large room that served as the Brotherhood's common area, tugging her jacket closer to ward off the morning chill. The building was a crumbling mess, with gaping holes in the walls exposing broken concrete and rebar. Piles of rubble decorated the corners.

When she reached the room, she saw that Domino sat at a table, an array of weaponry before her. Blob was sitting on the water-stained couch, watching television, and Toad, perched on a mismatched lounge chair, watched with Blob. The click of billiard balls marked Avalanche's presence at the pool table where he was seemingly playing against himself. Pietro was noticeably absent.

Rogue made a beeline for the fridge without greeting anyone. She rustled around inside, but there wasn't much to be found besides a carton of sour milk, so Rogue closed the door. She turned around and hesitated, not sure what to do with herself. She looked to the TV area where Blob was playing keep-away from Toad with the remote. Rogue shook her head, deciding that Toad's nervous whine would probably augment her headache. Instead she went and sat at the table with Domino.

In general, Rogue liked Domino. She wasn't as insipidly stupid as the male members of the Brotherhood, and Rogue thought that Domino might actually have considered her a friend if she could take Domino's vouching for her as any indication..

"Are we plannin' something?" Rogue asked, nodding towards Domino's guns. Domino shrugged.

"Pietro said to 'get ready.'"

"What are we doin'?"

"I'm not sure," Domino replied with a bit of a frown. "Whatever it is, he's been antsy all week."

Rogue chuckled weakly, hard pressed to hide her relief. Domino glanced at her, a question in her eyes, before she turned back to the cartridge she was loading into the nearest gun.

"Ah'm glad someone else noticed," Rogue offered as explanation. "Thought it was just me." Inside, Rogue felt some of her tension flowing away. Maybe her worries about Pietro had been paranoia, overreactions; perhaps his recent behavior could be explained as side-effects to planning a stunt.

Domino smirked knowingly.

"Yeah. It can be hard to tell his normal idiocy from his I'm-trying-to-put-something-together idiocy."

Rogue forced another chuckle, unsure of how else to react. Despite Domino's likeableness, she was the one most likely to realize Rogue was double crossing them, which meant that Rogue had to maintain a delicate balance in their relationship: friendly but not overly so. She couldn't afford to be that close, another frustrating barrier to the information she needed since Domino was also the one most likely informed about Pietro's plans.

Before Rogue could chance any conversation in that vein, though, Pietro strode through the doors, letting them bang loudly so that the noise caught the attention of all five of the room's occupants. It didn't take long for them to notice he wasn't alone. Rogue's jaw dropped involuntarily. Behind Pietro stood the trench coated Cajun from the night before, his gaze centered on her. The smug smile decorating his mouth told her he was not surprised to see her.

"_Bon matin, chère_. Miss me?"

"Great," Pietro enthused sarcastically. "You already know each other, so let's get down to bus—"

"What is he doin' here!" Rogue interrupted, standing so quickly that she knocked over the chair she'd been sitting in.

Domino glanced between Rogue and the newcomer. Toad hopped over, excited by the change of routine and the anticipation of contention. Blob lumbered after him, his brow creased in confusion and exertion.

"Who is this?" Domino questioned, a touch of impatience in her voice.

"Gambit, _mam'selle_." Remy bowed and Domino quirked an eyebrow.

"No time for chit-chat. We've got to get going." Pietro waved Domino off.

"To where?" Avalanche called, his cue poised in his fingers.

"Aren't you at least going to explain what you've been planning?" Domino asked, eyeing Remy skeptically.

"Can we talk about this on the way?" Pietro spat impatiently.

"Hey man," Toad greeted Gambit. Then he chuckled nervously.

"Ah ain't goin' anywhere with him," Rogue pointed a finger at Remy, residue embarrassment and anger manifested in a scowl.

"This is a _team_ thing, Rogue. Not up for debate." Pietro frowned at Rogue, a challenge clear in his eyes. Rogue crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. The look in Pietro's eyes told her he wouldn't take no for an answer, and now, when she was outnumbered without any backup, was not a time to force a confrontation.

"Yeah, man," Toad piped up. "We taking a road trip or something?"

"Again I ask: where are we going?" Avalanche repeated his earlier question, having abandoned his pool game in favor of the conversation closer to the doors.

"People!" Pietro yelled. "We have a mission—you know, destroying stuff, causing general mayhem for the humans—and some trains waiting!"

Domino sighed and began loading her weapons into the various holsters she wore.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she commented.

"That hurts, Dom." Pietro placed a hand over his heart and rolled his eyes. "Really, I'm hurt."

* * *

The train car the Brotherhood was using as transportation swayed on the track. Now that they had exited the city, Domino stood near the open door, watching the countryside speed by as the wind whipped her short hair straight up. Rogue sat a little ways away from her, her back to a crate and her knees drawn up to her chest. She hadn't said much since they'd left the Brotherhood's hideout and Toad had been left there, too much of a "liability," as Pietro had put it, to go with them.

Remy sat on another crate, absently shuffling cards and half listening to Quicksilver argue with Avalanche.

"I already told you," Pietro said, "that this needs to be done quietly. Blob wouldn't fit in the car, and it'd be pretty obvious if he tried to force his way in."

"This train will take so long," Avalanche pointed out. "We should have stolen a plane."

"Again," Pietro reiterated in exasperation, "you're kinda missing the point. People seem to panic when they misplace large aircraft."

"That is what the Cajun man is for, no?"

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Even he can't cover up a missing airplane."

Inwardly, Remy smirked. He didn't doubt that he could with the right equipment and a bit of luck. He wouldn't tell Quicksilver that, though. The man wasn't paying him enough.

"Also, I do not understand why all the secrecy," Avalanche continued.

"You know what? I'm not doing this anymore. Just tell yourself it's because I said so." Pietro threw up his hands in defeat and zipped away to sit on a crate farther down in the car.

Remy chuckled. Pietro didn't seem to understand how to keep his team in check, and the large Greek man clearly enjoyed pushing his buttons.

Of course, Remy couldn't blame him. Pietro's bumbling explanation about their mission had been pretty inadequate, and it was only after they'd snuck aboard the car that Blob couldn't fit into that Quicksilver had offered any explanation at all.

"_So here's the plan," Pietro told them. "There's an MRD detention center in Seattle where they're holding a mutant with information that we need for our next project—"_

"_And this project is…" Domino interjected, trailing off in hopes of an answer. She didn't get one._

"_Details, Dom, details. Anyway, Gambit's responsible for getting us in and Rogue will get the information. Then Gambit will get us out again, no one the wiser. And that's all we have to do!" _

_No one responded for a moment while Quicksilver had basked in what he perceived to be the simple brilliance of his plan._

"_That's it?" Domino finally asked incredulously._

"_I know. What's not to like?" Quicksilver had replied obliviously._

And that's when Avalanche had started criticizing the plans. He had wanted to know what the information was for. Pietro wouldn't tell him, which made him think Pietro himself wasn't sure what they were going to do with it. And he had wanted to know why they needed Gambit to break them in when they were perfectly capable of doing it themselves. Without explaining why, Quicksilver had insisted that they do things subtly this time, emphasized that he didn't want anyone to know what they were doing. That was how he explained Gambit's presence—he was there to get them into the MRD facility without a mess, to make sure they left no traces behind.

Domino had accepted the explanation with little comment, though it was obvious that she thought there was something more going on than what Pietro had outlined. Remy didn't think Avalanche cared either way, asking questions only because it annoyed Pietro. Rogue hadn't said anything, but Remy had noticed that she had flinched when Pietro had mentioned her part of the job. However, Pietro hadn't specified how Rogue was going to acquire that information, so Remy was left to wonder how she would do it.

Because Avalanche hadn't asked about that part, Remy assumed that Rogue's part on the team was one of gathering information, that she did it routinely, her methods known to her team, which almost certainly meant that she would be using her mutation. But how?

What her mutation was Remy didn't know, and his only clue was that it had something to do with reconnaissance. Judging from her flinch, he speculated that whatever it was she did was something that garnered data not willingly given. Mutants who forcibly retrieved information were generally telepaths, and that was what had fixated him on Rogue's mutation.

Because he doubted she was a telepath; telepaths generally had negative reactions to him because he scared them to death. He had been told it was because he generated a constant static that canceled out his thoughts. Thus, to telepaths, his thoughts or psychic signature didn't register and it was as though he appeared from nowhere—he was a psychic dead zone. It was an excellent trait for a thief to have. He couldn't be tracked telepathically, probably the only reason he had gotten away with some of his higher profile jobs, including the one where he'd broken into the X-Men's mansion.

So, while Rogue reacted, well, less than positively to his presence, it wasn't quite the same as a telepath's less than positive reaction—she seemed bothered by the fact that he _was_ there and not the fact that he _wasn't_. Therefore, he was almost certain that she wasn't a telepath. In fact, he was starting to think her mutation had something to do with her skin. First, it was always covered yet Remy had noticed that she still shied away from contact of any kind with anyone. Second, he'd been warned from the start not to touch her. Third, what could she possibly do that would make someone willing to pay him a hefty fee to make sure she made it to Seattle? The number of questions this gig generated was adding up, and his curiosity was becoming increasingly difficult to silence. Three mutant organizations—the X-Men, the Brotherhood, and whoever Carter worked for—were all involved one way or another. All signs pointed to a power play, and Rogue was at the center of it.

_To understand th' game, understand th' players. Or th' pawns._

Remy slid from his perch on the crate he had been occupying and made his way over to Rogue. He sat down next to her, deliberately too close. Predictably she scooted away, her muscles tense.

"What do _you_ want?" she asked irritably.

He fingered his cards, pretending he wasn't intensely interested in the way she warily eyed him or how she leaned away from him.

"Jus' wondering what an X-Man like you is doin' wit' th' Brotherhood," he stated casually.

She inhaled sharply. She obviously hadn't expected him to know she was an X-Man.

"What do you know about the X-Men?"

"'Nough," he rejoined enigmatically. Her eyes narrowed, and as a result he smiled. She was so easy to goad. She stared at him as if she thought he would explain more fully. When he didn't, she huffed in annoyance.

"It's complicated," she growled in answer to his question, her tone revealing it was a bit of a sore spot for her. Remy interpreted that to mean she was bitter about the circumstances that had led her away from the X-Men, which also meant she had probably wanted to stay there.

Rogue turned her face forward so as not to look at him.

"_C'est la vie, chère_. Not much of an excuse, though."

"And yours is bettah, Ah guess," she shot back sarcastically.

"_Mais oui._" He didn't add anything else, waiting to see how she would respond. She turned her head towards him again, and instead of just glittering annoyance in her expressive green eyes, he saw genuine curiosity and the expectation of having it quenched.

"So what is it?" She continued to look at him, and he realized she was waiting for his answer, that she assumed he would answer. His interest was piqued.

She really wanted to know why he was there. He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him a question and expected an honest answer. Normally all the people he conversed with expected him to say one of two things: either they waited for him to say what they wanted him to say (_guild, honor, family, alliance, war, marriage, blood_) or exactly the opposite of what they wanted to hear, a contrary habit he was well known for.

But never what he actually thought. He knew, somehow, there was a way to turn this to his advantage, her blinding naïveté. Before he could think of it, though, Rogue interrupted his thoughts.

"Are ya listenin'?" she snapped her fingers in front of his face as she leaned a little closer in order to catch his attention. When he focused on her face, she repeated her question: "Ah said, why are you here?"

Remy scrambled for an answer; he was slightly caught off guard and couldn't quite stop the first thing that came to his mouth from tumbling out.

"Money."

He almost blinked in surprise. It was true that he was there only for the money, but why had he told her that?

Rogue didn't say anything for a moment, like she expected him to burst out laughing before giving her his real reason. When he didn't, she recoiled, disgusted, and stood. She wasted no time in stalking off to sulk against some other crate.

He watched her go, fascinated and slightly confused by that fascination.

* * *

"Wait a second," Kitty held up her hands as if they would help her process what she was hearing. "You're saying the professor's working with Domino in the future?"

Logan nodded.

"And she told him that something bad happens to Rogue while she's with the Brotherhood? Like, something _bad_ bad?"

Again, Logan nodded. Kitty bit her lip, worry causing her forehead to wrinkle.

"She is hardly more than a child," Ororo remarked faintly.

"What is it?" Bobby asked softly. Logan grimaced in the direction of the floor.

"I don't know. He got pulled away from Cerebro before he could finish."

Logan methodically clenched and unclenched his fists, and for a moment no one spoke. Kitty leaned on Bobby, who had to concentrate on keeping his hands from icing. Finally, Hank broke the silence.

"You're going to go get her back." He didn't phrase it as a question.

Logan nodded gruffly.

"I won't force anyone else to come, but I—"

Hank interrupted him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever else she may have done, she's our family, too." Some of the tension in Logan's shoulders eased, and Hank removed his hand. "I shall go make sure Forge has the Blackbird ready for takeoff."

"And we'll have Emma track her down with Cerebro," Bobby added, tugging Kitty's hand in the direction of the elevator.

Logan watched them go silently, and soon he was left with only Ororo, who was gazing at him in concern.

"Logan?"

"If something happens to her…"

"You must not blame yourself. We will find her."

* * *

"You're sure this will work?"

"He believed I was his father. They are already on their way."

"But—"

"It is her destiny. Or do you not believe your own visions?"

"It will be hard for her."

"As anything worthwhile is. She'll survive. We'll make sure of it."

* * *

Translations

_Bon matin, chère_. Good morning, dear.

_mam'selle_ (_mademoiselle_) how one addresses a young, unmarried female; miss

_C'est la vie, chère_. That's life, darling.

_Mais oui._ Of course.


	4. Chapter 4

Prodigal

Chapter 4

* * *

Rogue's stomach began growling at midday, forcibly reminding her that she hadn't had any breakfast. Unfortunately, she wasn't likely to get anything to eat until the train stopped, and she had no idea when or even if that would be.

But her stomach continued its rumbled complaints, each one successively louder than the last. Thankfully, no one had heard over the noise in the freight car, though the Cajun gave her an amused look when he caught her rubbing her stomach. She had been tempted to stick out her tongue in return; she didn't in hopes of preserving her dignity.

When the Cajun—Gambit as she remembered him introducing himself—had come towards her looking like a cat that had spotted a mouse, she hadn't known what to think. She had been even more surprised when he had outright admitted that he knew she was an X-Man. Because of that, Rogue was suspicious of him. She had no idea what he thought he would gain by his offhand comment, had no idea if it had been honest curiosity or something more. She hoped it wasn't something more because she had had enough of betraying the X-Men. She wasn't willing to do it again, even if she did it without knowing. Probably, she supposed, because somewhere deep down, she hoped that they would forgive for everything she had already done, and she didn't want to make it harder for them than it already would be.

Rogue squashed that hope as soon as she recognized it, reminding herself that there would be no welcoming if she couldn't focus at the task on hand, make this ruse all worthwhile. She shoved thoughts of the X-Men away. It was better to be realistic than to be hopeful, she reasoned.

She chose to concentrate on the near future and whether it would bring the possibility of food. She conjectured that she hadn't eaten a thing for at least twenty-four hours and wondered how the others were faring so well. Perhaps they had brought supplies with them? She had noticed that Domino did have a pack with her; Rogue had just assumed that anything Domino carried was weaponry, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made for Domino to have brought basic provisions. Like Domino had said, she had suspected that Pietro was planning something and thus she had prepared, and "prepared" must have meant she had been ready to take off at a moment's notice.

It wasn't like Rogue didn't know how to do these kind of things. After all, hadn't first Mystique and next Cyclops and then Logan lectured her enough about being prepared? Rogue closed her eyes and a memory washed over her of Logan reminding her to always keep her locker stocked washed. She felt herself start to smile at the remembered sound of his scratchy tone and how he used his gruff demeanor to mask his concern, but she pushed the memory away before she got in too deep. It was her own stupid fault for letting herself be distracted that was without food. If she didn't want to draw any more attention to herself than was necessary, then she'd have to wait it out. Hopefully it would be soon; she didn't really have any bodily reserves on her that could last much longer (she figured she had lost ten pounds, due to stress most likely, in the past month). In the meantime, she held her stomach and tried to sleep against the crate she was leaning on.

When the train finally stopped to refuel in what turned out to be Cleveland, it was the middle of the night. A few hours earlier Pietro had revealed that the plan was to stay on this train until Chicago, after which they would be switching to another freighter that would go all the way to Seattle, so besides a few brief excursions to stretch their legs and relieve their bladders, the whole team settled in for the night, following Quicksilver's continued insistence that they keep a low profile.

Rogue forced herself to wait patiently until she was sure everyone was asleep, and then she shoved aside the cargo door just enough to slip out. She found herself in a large train yard and groaned. It was so much bigger than she had thought. Or not thought. She berated herself sharply for being so stupid and naïve. Did she think that food would just jump out at her? There was no way she could make it out of the train yard and back before the train left.

_Think! Think!_

No ideas came, however. Feeling like a little child, she couldn't stop the tears from welling in her eyes. Despite them, she started walking anyway. Maybe if she got lost and couldn't find her way back to the train, the Brotherhood would leave her behind and she would be free of them. Her insides swelled with hope before more rational thoughts reminder her of the big if: _if_ Pietro really would let her go, something she seriously doubted seeing as how she seemed to be an integral part of his plan.

She had been walking aimlessly for ten minutes when she heard a familiar voice from behind her.

"Lost, _chérie_?"

"No," she retorted automatically. She turned around to face Gambit, cringing inwardly at being caught but careful not to show it. In the dark it was hard to distinguish any of his features from each other: all his clean lines blurred in the dim light. However, his eyes were an unnerving red, glowing like the embers of a fire.

Rogue stared him down, determined not to be intimidated by his presence. Unfortunately, her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. Rogue blushed hotly and was distantly grateful for the dark cover of the midnight sky.

Gambit chuckled.

"Ain't'cha a lil' skinny t' be skipping meals?" he asked, amusement ringing clearly in his tone.

"Ah _ain't_ skipping meals," she shot back hotly. He quirked an eyebrow, a gesture she wouldn't have caught if the soft light from his eyes hadn't lit up his upper face in just the right way. "At least, not on purpose," she added in a mumble.

He laughed again and Rogue scowled at him. Before she could ready a retort, he held up his hand to her. Gambit was holding something, but Rogue couldn't quite see what it was, though she heard the telltale crinkle of a plastic wrapper.

"Y' don' know much about being prepared for de long-haul, do ya?"

"What is that?" Rogue questioned before she could stop herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. Why couldn't she have responded to his obvious insult! Now he knew she was interested in what he had, and he wouldn't let that go. Sure enough, when Gambit next spoke, she could hear the self-satisfied grin in his words.

"Well, now, I do believe the Rogue is hungry, and Gambit's got somethin' she wants."

Rogue licked her lips before slapping herself mentally. With all her will power she turned away from him and resumed walking in the direction she had been heading. At the moment, she felt anything would have been better than to beg the arrogant man for whatever was in his hand, even if she starved.

"Wait, _chère_," Gambit called after her. She paused and looked back. Gambit took the opportunity to close the distance between them. "Y' can have it. I know y' hungry," he said softly, more sincerely.

Rogue looked up at him, not quite coherent enough to be alarmed at how close he was.

"Ah don't want your charity," she spat. Her stomach protested loudly, but she moved away from him again. She didn't get too far; he grabbed her wrist and tugged.

"_Que t'es __entêtée__,_" he murmured under his breath with a small hint of annoyance. Louder, he addressed her, "S'not charity. S'got strings attached."

With a frown Rogue shook his hand off and subconsciously cradled her wrist to her chest.

"What kind o' strings?" she asked warily, suspecting that this was the part when he requested information on the X-Men. Rogue set her jaw and lifted her head, attempting to look down at him despite the fact that he had six or seven inches on her. Whatever he wanted, he wasn't getting it. She heard Gambit huff, but it sounded mildly entertained rather than annoyed.

"Here's m' terms: you try and be friends wit' Remy and he'll give y' this protein bar." He held the bar out and shook it slightly, as if to emphasize his willingness to deal. Rogue tried not to stare at him, she really did, but his request took her by surprise. "What say you, _chère_?"

Rogue weighed her options, trying to keep her shock in check. She had been certain he was trying to get information out of her, but all he wanted was friendship? It was so bizarre she couldn't find a reason to disbelieve him. For a few minutes, she tried to think of reason to say no, but eventually her empty stomach won out.

"Fine," she acquiesced. His eyes glowed more intensely for a moment and then he handed her the bar, brushing her fingers as he did so. Rogue told herself the resulting shiver was only because she wasn't used to being touched.

Silently they turned back towards the freight car they had come from. Or rather, Gambit headed back towards their train and Rogue followed, having no clue herself where she had come from. She munched on the protein bar while they walked, but it was gone far too soon.

"So, _Remy_," she couldn't help saying his name with sarcasm, "ya got any more of these?"

* * *

Remy had been all too aware that Rogue had been hungry all day. But he had hesitated in offering her anything, first because he was certain she would reject it, second because he was curious to see how she would deal with such a fundamental problem, and third because he was a master of opportune moments, and he needed some leverage to get her to trust him. He didn't expect her to rely on her teammates—teammate seemed to be a loose term for the Brotherhood—and he wasn't disappointed. The other Brotherhood members kept mostly to themselves, and none of them seemed to have even noticed her predicament.

When night had fallen and he had seen no sign of her eating anything, he had to hide his delight. It was almost too easy. When she slipped from the car, her footsteps slow and soft, he naturally followed.

Despite her obvious hunger (her stomach had been growling rather loudly) and exhaustion, she had reared on him, spitting and hissing like an angry cat too proud to back down from a fight, her proverbial fur puffed to mask her smaller stature. Something about that called to him, reeled him in, and when he traded for her friendship, a small voice suggested that maybe the request wasn't just about the job before scolding him that mixing personal and business was suicidal. But it was too late. He had already made the offer. Besides that, there had been the way she had looked at him, incredulous yet still desperate enough to consider what he had said.

It was something about that, he had decided later after they re-entered the car without waking anyone and she had fallen asleep, a fourth protein bar half eaten in her hand. It was something about how her desperation made her pathetic, how she tempered it with independence and attitude. How it reminded him of himself, how it made him want to gain her trust for himself, beyond what he was being paid for.

And gain it he would have to do, inch by painful inch—she clearly wasn't about to give it freely. In the morning, even as she'd been eating the remaining half of her fourth bar, she had eyed him suspiciously. To distract her, he brought out some playing cards and shuffled them. With her eyes focused on his hands, he studied her face.

She was young, younger than he had originally thought, but there was something about the way she carried herself that made her seem older. Perhaps it was her jaded façade, perhaps it had something to do with whatever problem she had with touching, or perhaps it was the inexplicable white streak in her hair. That patch of hair was white all the way down to the roots, so he deduced that it was natural. Not surprising really—many mutants had less than traditional pigmentation; his own eyes were a perfect example.

Remy watched as she chewed the last bite with a frown. Maybe she looked older than she was because she hardly smiled. Before he could dwell on that thought, Rogue licked her fingers and Remy fought hard to keep himself from grinning. It would be hard to draw conclusions about this one—she had challenge written all over her forehead. Luckily for Remy, he thrived on that sort of thing.

"Still hungry, _chérie_?"

"Ah ain't yah darling,"

"Didn' say darlin'."

"What's the difference?"

"_Chérie_ sounds more romantic, _non_?" Remy smirked and Rogue rolled her eyes. "Where you from, _chère_?"

"Why you askin'?"

"S' part o' th' deal, _souviens-toi_?"

For a moment Rogue just watched him, like she was trying to decipher his motives. Finally she looked away and gave up with a sigh.

"Miz'zippi," she drawled. She kept her eyes averted and fidgeted with her hands. Remy shuffled his cards.

"What'd you leave for?"

Rogue turned her head slightly and glared at him.

"Don't want ta talk about that," she stated firmly. She kept her glare on Remy, so he stopped shuffling long enough to put his hands out in a placating gesture.

"_D'accord_. Maybe we talk about me?"

Rogue shrugged before dropping her glare and turning her head once again to the side. Remy began shuffling again.

"Remy LeBeau,." He smiled and stuck out his hand, but Rogue didn't take it. "N'Awlins, she is my city," he bragged. Rogue snorted.

"Anyone who ain't blind, deaf, an' dumb could tell ya that, Cajun."

"That's _cadien_, _chère_."

"It's not lahke Ah care," she retorted.

"You sho' not makin' this easy," Gambit noted amusedly. Rogue huffed.

"Look," Rogue finally turned to look at him, "Ah don't really do the whole friend thing, ok?"

Remy studied her face, holding her gaze until she dropped her eyes. She really was much younger than he had initially thought.

"Is that why you're here wit' th' Brotherhood 'stead of th' X-Men?" Remy kept his voice steady and low, hoping the question would come across as non-threatening. He didn't want her to bristle this time, and from her answer he could gauge just how much trust he'd won. He watched her carefully, not moving when she pinned him with a hard look. The tightening of her jaw alerted him to the fact that she was angry that he'd asked her again. He waited her out, hoping she'd answer this time. Eventually, her features sagged slightly as if the fight had gone out of her.

"Yeah, Ah guess," she said tiredly. "S'pose Ah don't have anywhere else ta go."

Remy didn't answer immediately, just kept shuffling his cards and watching intently as Rogue twisted her hands in her lap.

"Y' wan' go back to them?" he cautiously asked, this time keeping his eyes on his cards. It was obvious that his direct gaze unnerved her, and he theorized that she would be more open if he gave her some space.

Rogue chuckled suddenly, bitterly.

"Cain't," she said simply.

"Then that's something we have in common, _chère_."

"What?" she asked, confused.

Remy smiled to himself.

"Me and N'Awlins," he clarified. "I can' go back either." He sighed. "_Ma ville, elle me manque,"_ he lamented, a hand over his heart.

"Why?"

From the corner of his eye, Remy noted that Rogue had stopped fussing with her hands. He smiled broadly—he had finally caught her attention and that accomplishment gave him an unexpected rush.

"Why what?"

"Why cain't ya go back?"

"Aw, _chérie_, that be a story fo' when we are better friends, _non_?" He punctuated this with a wink and Rogue scowled in response, but she didn't stalk off the way he expected her to.

* * *

"Where are they?" Logan snarled. Toad squirmed in his grip until Logan extended his claws dangerously close to Toad's throat.

"I swear, man! Pietro didn't tell us where they were going!"

"'Us'?" Wolverine repeated. A gulp escaped Toad.

"Yeah. Pietro sent Blob back, you know? But he didn't want to stay here with me, so he left again," Toad answered, tinny, uncontrollable laughter accompanying his words. "Said something about not being able to fit in the train."

Logan dropped Toad unceremoniously to the ground. Toad hopped away from him, chuckling absurdly all the while.

"Wolverine?" Storm questioned quietly.

"He doesn't know anything," Logan replied. "Frost!" he called to the air. There was a pause in which Logan seemed to be listening to something only he could hear, and then he growled loudly. Storm placed a hand on Logan's shoulder. "She can't trace her. Some sort of static or somethin'," Logan explained through gritted teeth.

"What now?"

"I'm gonna have to sniff her out. Maybe find out which train they took."

* * *

Translations

_chérie_ dear, darling

_chère_ dear, darling

_Que t'es __entêtée__._ Geez, you're stubborn. (_entêtée_ is specifically Cajun French)

_souviens-toi?_ remember?

_D'accord_ ok

_cadien_ Cajun

_Ma ville, elle me manque._ I miss my city.

_non_ no


	5. Chapter 5

Prodigal

Chapter 5

* * *

By the time their train reached Chicago, Rogue was thoroughly exhausted of that mode of travel. For one thing, it seemed as though they wouldn't reach Seattle for another week. For another, the car became unbearably hot during the day, but since Rogue was not about to expose any of her skin, she had to sweat through it. Exiting that car had been pure bliss, though she had tried not to show it. Of course, Remy had been laughing silently at her. Interestingly enough, she found herself only slightly annoyed, and it had been easy to ignore him and instead concentrate on the liberating feel of fresh air.

Surprisingly, Remy had proved to be an… interesting companion. _Ha_, Rogue scoffed to herself. _If interestin' means scumbag_. Remy had revealed himself to be a career thief for hire, and she had deduced from that that he possessed the kind of skills that could earn him a top spot in any number of illegal rackets. In the back of her mind she wondered what kind of things he stole and how he had gotten involved with the Brotherhood. Surely Pietro didn't have the kind of money that she was pretty sure Remy was worth, did he?

Rogue shoved those questions aside, trying instead to focus on the present.

"…find a train to Seattle," Pietro was saying.

"And how did you think we would do that?" Domino questioned dryly.

"Hey, Dom, you know me. I'm not really a plan-ahead-kind-of-a guy," Pietro replied cheerfully.

"That's an understatement," Domino mumbled under her breath. She took charge of the group, sending them off in different directions to search for any kind information about the train yard's maze of tracks and which might lead to Seattle, ending with instructions for everyone to return to the rendezvous point after an hour.

Rogue went in the direction Domino had sent her until she lost sight of all the other members of the team. Then she veered hard left, the direction she'd seen Pietro take, hoping for an opportunity to follow him. If she got lucky, maybe he'd go off and make contact with whoever it was he was working with. If she were _really_ lucky, she'd be able to get the information, make it onto a train back to New York, relay the intel to the X-Men, and be done with this whole mess before the rest of the Brotherhood realized what happened.

A surge of anticipation quickened her footsteps, but she resisted the urge to run, just in case anyone was watching. As it turned out, it had been a worthwhile precaution.

"Y' runnin' away, _chère_?"

Or it would have been, if the person who caught her hadn't been Gambit.

"Why would you care?" she answered nonchalantly, forcing herself to remain calm. The last thing she needed was him selling her out. Best to let him steer the conversation. She kept walking and Remy followed.

"Cause we friends, an' if y' leave now, who'm I gonna talk to on the long, long train west?"

"Do those lines really work on other girls?" Rogue laughed at him, all the while moving forward.

"Ain't a line," Remy replied.

"Oh please," Rogue retorted. "Do Ah look like Ah'm stupid?" Gambit laughed.

"_Non_."

To that Rogue had nothing to say, so she kept walking. Behind her, she heard Remy's footsteps speed up.

"C'mon, _chérie_," he spoke from his new place next to her, "y' know he's goin' come after you. Y' part of th' plan, an' more'n what he says."

Rogue paused and looked at her feet, willing herself to look like a victim. Beside her, Gambit stopped as well.

"So what am Ah supposed ta do?" she asked quietly. "Just wait an' let it happen to me?"

"_Non_. But y' don' know what the game is, who the players are, an' s'obvious someone b'sides Quicksilver is pullin' the strings. If y' leave now, they'll come after you when you don' expect it. Best to get as much information possible, _n'est-ce pas_?"

Rogue made a mock of thinking his words over. Inwardly she was trying to squash her frustration with having yet another obstacle to her plans. However, a small part of her conceded that he was partially right—Pietro had been insistent she come on this mission. Was she playing into his hands? There was something about this mission that was off—where were the explosions, the confrontations, the juvenile threats? Sneaking cross country on a train wasn't at all what the Brotherhood was about. The only conclusion was that Pietro hadn't planned this one; he was simply following instructions.

She didn't want to admit it, but Remy was right. Even if she had been able to find out who Quicksilver was working for, it would have been only half the story. It was probably best to stay a little longer, get a little more information. Rogue cringed inwardly as an unbidden memory of Mystique floated to the forefront, something Mystique had constantly reminded her, "Eager fingers make for unsteady shots."

Rogue looked at Remy, who smiled a little in response. What didn't make sense is why he would care enough to warn her.

"Why are ya tellin' me this?"

"Y' keep forgettin': we friends, Rogue," Remy offered easily.

Rogue rolled her eyes.

"If you say so," she muttered.

"Y' don' trust me?" Remy mockingly gave her a wide-eyed look and spread his hands in a wide arc.

"Ya too full of yaself." Rogue stifled a chuckle.

"Y' cruel, _chère_," Remy accused playfully. "Now, I saw a control tower further west. What say we go find a Seattle train?"

Rogue sighed in resignation. The adrenaline rush from thinking she was getting out had ebbed, leaving her tired. And now she had a whole new set of problems to think about.

"Lead the way, Cajun."

* * *

Remy admired Rogue's brass. He had thought her naïve, and she was, but she had more of an agenda than he had originally realized. He'd been expecting her to make a run for it.

Unfortunately, her plans weren't compatible with his payoff. So he'd talked her out of it, making sure she thought it was out of concern and letting her think he was more ignorant than he was.

Not that he had outright lied to her; trying to outrun an unknown threat was risky—you never knew when it would come back to bite you. Remy lived his life that way, always keeping two steps ahead. It had served him well, and the only time he had let his guard down was the time that had changed his life irrevocably.

But he didn't think that that was the only reason he had warned Rogue away from following her first instinct. Some part of him wanted to see her succeed, wanted to watch her outplay them all and get away with it. After all, wasn't the gamble, the risk, part of the thrill?

Besides that, he liked playing games, and she was fun to tease.

"Next time you wan' run away, _chère_," Remy cautioned cheekily as they made their way to the control tower, "make sure no one's followin'."

"Shut up, Cajun," Rogue retorted.

Remy noted the words lacked any real anger or annoyance, and a glance backwards revealed Rogue to be paying him little attention. Mentally he added a tally mark to his score—she didn't trust him, but she liked him. He also noted that she looked exhausted and, in the light of day, skinnier than he had previously thought. Inwardly, Gambit wondered how if Carter and his employer would care what kind of condition she arrived in. He shook his head. They should have specified in the contract. Still, he wondered when she had had her last decent meal. She seemed a little more inclined to rush in headfirst than to wait and calculate, the kind of thinking that tended to forget small details like basic survival instincts.

They closed in on the control tower, and Remy motioned behind him for Rogue to be quiet. She complied, and they both crouched down behind some abandoned crates to avoid being seen. Gambit watched the tower for a moment before scouting ahead, signaling Rogue to wait for him.

Silently he walked the perimeter of the building. Just before he reached full circle, he heard a door creak open. Remy flattened himself against the wall, listening carefully. There was a jangling of keys before a rail worker moved into Remy's line of sight. Gambit held his breath; if the man decided to turn around, Remy would have less than a second to make it to the other side of the building. Fortunately, the man disappeared into the maze of tracks and trains, leaving the building alone with Remy.

Quickly he rounded the building and waved Rogue forward from her hiding place. She jogged towards him.

"Well?" she questioned, panting slightly.

"Lunch break," he answered succinctly as they made their back to the locked door. "Y'stand watch." Rogue rolled her eyes but obediently took up position while Remy set to work on the lock.

It wasn't very sophisticated—he could have picked it when he was six. Inside, however, was a different story. Computers and other electronics monitored a good chunk of the rail yard. The members of the Brotherhood, Remy knew, would have rummaged around aimlessly, finding what they wanted by sheer luck, but he had been trained how to hack any number of systems—oft times clients sought stolen information rather than goods and thus electronic breaking and entering was as much a part of a Guild thief's repertoire as was picking locks and disabling security cameras. He sat in a desk chair before the nearest computer and cracked his knuckles. However, before he so much as touched the keyboard, he heard a thump followed by a gasp. Anticipating that they had been discovered, he rushed out of the building. From what he had already observed, Rogue wasn't in top fighting condition.

Outside he found Rogue with a hand at her temple. At her feet lay the rail worker Remy had seen leaving earlier. He wasn't moving. Rogue shook her head a few times as though trying to clear it while Remy stifled his surprise. She was more resilient than he had thought.

"Ah thought ya said it was his lunch break," Rogue hissed. Remy shrugged. Rogue's skin was pale and there was sweat on her forehead. Okay, maybe not _that_ resilient.

"_Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé ?"_

Rogue shook her head again.

"Just put him back inside. Ah got what we need."

For a moment, Remy stared at Rogue, but when her frown started to deepen, he bent to do as she asked.

The man's unconscious weight was awkward to maneuver, his limp limbs flailing. Remy dragged him inside the control room and propped him in the office chair facing the monitors before checking his pulse. His heartbeat was steady, if slow. Deciding there was nothing else he could do without betraying their presence, Gambit exited the building.

What had Rogue done? From what Remy could tell, the man was completely knocked out and wouldn't be waking any time soon, yet there wasn't a scratch on him. In fact, Rogue seemed to be worse off than the rail worker.

Remy suppressed his curiosity as best he could; it was just another piece to the puzzle that was Rogue, and he would figure her out eventually.

Back outside again, he saw Rogue had sat down on the ground, a hand still massaging her temples.

"Y' okay, _chère_?"

"Fine," she bit out testily.

"He gon' be okay?"

Rogue's eyes flicked to him guiltily before her face hardened.

"Ah only took a little bit…" She shook head one last time. "After a couple a' hours," she finally confessed. "Gonna have a nasty headache though," she added softly.

Rogue didn't say anything else. He watched her silently, noticed how she hugged herself. She made a pathetic picture, small and tired and vulnerable. Whatever it was she had done, it was clear she had found it unpleasant, and the aftereffects were lingering.

In his mind's eye he saw a young boy soaked with hot Lousiana rain, hungry and tired and always hiding his eyes, a burn in his hands he couldn't explain.

"Y' hungry?"

Rogue looked up, confused.

"What?"

"I said, are y' hungry?"

Rogue stared at him. She seemed to be having trouble processing what he was saying.

"Hun… gry…" she repeated brokenly. "Yeah, yeah. It's lunch, isn't it?"

"_D'accord_. Let's go find something to eat, _hein_?"

He offered her a hand and she took it, brow furrowed. Remy pulled her up.

"Yeah," Rogue agreed. She squinted at him and dusted herself off absently. "Say, you're new, right? I mean, you seem sorta familiar, but I can't put my finger on it." Rogue looked him up and down. "Uh, you work with Matt, maybe?"

Bewildered, Remy inclined his head in what could be interpreted as assent. Had using her power cost her her sanity?

Rogue nodded, relief evident on her face.

"Right, right. Matt, see, he always invites people without telling me. But," here Rogue looked around as if looking for someone, "where is he? And Vincent. You've met him, right?"

"Yes," Remy agreed. "We meetin' them there." Rogue looked confused. "Guess he didn' tell you…" he added, drawing out _you_.

"Charlie," Rogue replied, sticking out her hand. When Remy didn't take it, she drew it back sheepishly. "We've met, haven't we? Man, I suck with names."

* * *

"Logan! Logan! Emma just picked up Rogue on Cerebro!"

"Where?"

"Chicago. She said it was just a brief flash before—"

"Suit up if you wanna come, Kitty."

* * *

Translations

_chère_ dear, darling

_Non_ no

_chérie_ dear, darling

_n'est-ce pas?_ interrogative tag; is it not?

_Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? _What happened ?

_D'accord_ ok

_hein_ huh


	6. Chapter 6

Prodigal

Chapter 6

* * *

Rogue couldn't help but stare blankly at the menu in front of her—it was strange, but it was like she had no idea how she had gotten to this restaurant. She had been meaning to grab some lunch, hadn't she? But she hadn't eaten pizza since that awful job in high school working for her grouchy neighbor, so why was she in a pizzeria? And where were Vincent and Matt, her regular lunch buddies? The tall man with the odd eyes who kept talking to her like he knew her—was his name Remy?—had assured her they would be meeting them here, but they hadn't yet shown. She glanced at her dining companion again, finding his odd appearance suspicious.

_Sure are a lot of weird looking people today_, Rogue thought to herself. First there had been that sullen girl with the white stripes—

_Ah am the girl with the white stripes_, Rogue told herself firmly._ Ah'm Rogue. Rogue, Rogue, Rogue. Not Charlie with the three kids and the minivan and the mortgage._ _Don't know nothing about that leaky faucet Marie wants fixed in the bathroom or Rose's dance recital next Thursday…_

Something nudged her foot.

"Y' awake, _chère_?"

"Huh?" Rogue replied inarticulately.

"You ready, honey?" a voice asked gently.

Rogue looked up. From across the table Remy was watching her intently, some unknown emotion darkening his already piercing eyes. To the side of their table, a waitress waited, pencil poised. Her high pony tail was that golden orange that happened when dark hair was bleached too often and her lips were painted red to match her uniform. She looked to be in her mid-forties, pleasantly curvy with a motherly air. She watched Rogue patiently, a soft frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Uh," Rogue scrambled, "whatevah he's havin'." She pointed to Remy.

The waitress nodded as she wrote the order down. She then gathered up the menus and left. Rogue watched her go, repeating _Rogue Rogue Rogue_ all the while in her head. When she finally turned her head back to the table in front of her, she realized Remy was still staring at her.

"Didn' know you liked anchovies, _chère_." His mouth was smirking, but the intensity stayed in his eyes.

"Anchovies?" she repeated dully.

"_Ouais_."

"Is that what we ordered?"

"Wit' the rest of th' pizza."

"Oh."

Rogue thought hard, trying to put everything together. She was in Chicago with the Brotherhood, catching a train to Seattle. There had been a man—Charlie—at the control tower. He had surprised her so she drained him. Not too much, but he wasn't a mutant. The last thing she remembered clearly was Gambit suggesting they get something to eat, though obviously things had happened between now and then. When Rogue focused, she found hazy memories of Remy hot wiring a car, of a short drive, of parking, of sitting down. She looked around and found that the red and white décor of the mom and pop pizzeria was vaguely familiar, like she had seen it once before through fogged glass.

Rogue closed her eyes and swallowed. She remembered—not very well, but enough that she wasn't going to worry about it, nor was she going to ask about it. If she had thought she was Charlie, she didn't want to know. She concentrated on pushing Charlie's personality behind the mental wall the Professor had helped her build a long time ago. She opened her eyes and in doing so realized that her head was pounding. She sighed inaudibly and blinked, only to find Gambit had yet to look away from her face. She resisted the urge to scrub at her eyes.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Cajun?"

"Not'in."

He chuckled, and Rogue began to feel uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze. She glanced around. They were the only diners in the restaurant. She fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, casting about for a conversation topic. She needed a distraction; absorbing Charlie had made the other personalities she'd absorbed restless, and they threatened to break her wall.

"So… anchovies, huh?"

"Y' allergic or somethin'?"

"No." Rogue laughed shakily, unable to say more.

More awkward silence. This time, Rogue refused to try again. She still felt disoriented, and there was an edge of suppressed panic gnawing at the edge of her mind, along with a swell of unwanted voices. She refused to acknowledge it, though it pulsed at her mental shields. It grew and grew, but just when it was about to overwhelm her, Remy spoke again, distracting her.

"M' _tante_ loves anchovies. Always reminds me a' her."

"Ya… 'tante'?" Rogue repeated, struggling to keep up. She shoved the panic away, hushed the voices, intent on focusing on Remy's words.

"Means aunt," Remy clarified. There was a small smile on his face, one that bespoke fond memories and old pain. It reminded Rogue of magnolia trees and sticky summer nights, and those thoughts—her own—overwhelmed the other voices so that they faded away.

"She live in New Orleans?" Slowly the panic also ebbed away as she kept pushing at it, talking to keep herself focused.

Remy nodded.

"Raised me an' m' _frère_, practically."

For the first time, Gambit dropped his gaze and Rogue felt her shoulders relax in response. Maybe it was because he was being so open or maybe it was because her mind was finally clearing, but her curiosity got the better of her and a question slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"What happened to yo' momma?"

"She died," Remy told her easily, coolly, making Rogue aware of the inappropriateness of the question.

"Ah'm sorry," she apologized.

Gambit shrugged.

"Was a long time ago, _chère_."

Before Rogue could think of a response, the waitress arrived with the pizza. It was huge, toppings piled high. From the looks of it, Remy had ordered every last one on the menu.

"Honey," the waitress addressed Rogue, "you make sure your boyfriend doesn't eat this all, alright?" She winked in Remy's direction. Rogue blushed, flustered.

"He's not—"

"Don' I look like a gentleman?" Remy spoke over her, pretending offense.

Rogue scoffed to cover her blush, but it wasn't all show. She was angry that he seemed fine with pretending they were romantically involved, because they weren't, nor could they be. Besides that, she hardly knew him!

"Ya look like a swamp rat, swamp rat."

The waitress laughed.

"You don't like it, you tell me, ok?" she continued. I'll get you whatever you want. You want a cannoli, maybe?" Before Rogue could protest, the waitress turned around and yelled to the kitchen, "Hey! Frankie! We got any cannolis?"

There was no immediate response.

"Frankie," the waitress explained, "he's my brother. Makes the best cannolis in all of Chicago." She smiled widely. "But he likes to ignore me. I'll be right back." She headed for the kitchen, yelling at the top of her lungs. "Frankie! How many times I gotta tell you to answer when Carla talks to you!"

Remy chuckled in amusement, but Rogue was still too embarrassed to join in. She decided to cover it up with anger.

"_Bon appétit_," Remy murmured before he took a slice of pizza.

Rogue watched him, unsure if she should ask why he hadn't corrected Carla or not.

"You are seriously disturbed," Rogue finally tossed at him.

"C'mon, _chère_. Was jus' a lil' fun. 'Sides, you get a free cannoli, _non_?" He set puppy dog eyes on her, and Rogue huffed. Then she remembered what he had said about being friends and escaping and New Orleans. He meant well, didn't he? She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, to have something of a friend after all this time planning and spying and waiting and being alone.

"Yeah," she conceded slowly. Remy grinned, and Rogue took a slice of pizza for herself.

* * *

After Remy had found Rogue with the rail worker at her feet, she had been lucid for all of five minutes, just long enough to scold him. When she had suddenly and without warning believed herself to be a man named Charlie, Remy had played along. It had been difficult, because after that first few minutes, she slipped back into being Rogue and stayed there—mostly. He had had to convince her to ditch Pietro and the Brotherhood for an hour, but that had been easier than it should have been. He felt slightly guilty, taking advantage of her pale skin and wide eyes, but it was an opportunity he couldn't pass by, this chance to study her alone and while she was vulnerable. To make himself feel better, he rationalized that time away from the stress the Brotherhood caused her and a good meal were more than enough to make up for it. Besides that, Remy was concerned that she would start believing she was Charlie again. For some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of that happening in front of the others. He wasn't sure why—maybe it was simply the fact that like him, she was usually proud and stubborn, and she wouldn't want herself to be that vulnerable.

Rogue hadn't batted an eye when he was stealing the car, something Remy was sure she would have protested under normal circumstances, and when he had asked her what she liked to eat, she didn't answer, so he picked the nearest decent looking place, which turned out to be a small pizzeria called _Rosati's_. Though it was around the lunch hour, the place was devoid of any other customers—not the best way to blend in, but he intuitively knew the fewer people the better for Rogue in her current condition. Plus, it _was _about the closest place, and well, he was, after all, still on Pietro's payroll, and breaking the rules wasn't the same as bending them.

Remy had guided Rogue to a booth, something else she hadn't resisted, and sat himself across from her, watching her carefully. She had remained silent until he nudged her, not even noticing when the waitress approached to introduce herself and take orders. The strain of talking to Carla had shown on her face as had the ensuing internal battle even as she had tried to make small talk. For a moment, it seemed she had won because she had seemed more like herself when she irritably asked him what he was looking at. However, it was a relief short lived: after that comment, she reverted to being overly quiet, growing paler before his eyes.

Remy supposed that was why he had begun doling out personal information. Rogue seemed to have needed something external to concentrate on, and Remy knew from long experience of exploiting human behavior that sincerity caught another's attention like nothing else. What had surprised him was the mention of his mother, someone he hadn't talked to anyone about in years.

In any case, it had worked, and after she had eaten, Rogue had finally regained some of her color. Remy was sure Rogue left the restaurant—after some more good-natured ribbing from Carla and a free cannoli—feeling much better than when she had entered it. In fact, it didn't even seem to occur to her to be tense on the car ride back to the freight yard.

"Thanks," she said quietly from the passenger seat. She was watching the landscape go by, a finger tracing idle patterns on the window. Inwardly, he smiled and gave himself more points. He was slowly winning the battle to gain her trust, and he was certain today was a major inroad.

"F' what?"

In his peripheral vision, he saw Rogue give him a sidelong glance, her mouth curving slightly upwards.

"The pizza."

"Anytime, _chérie_."

However, the scene they happened on upon return to the rendezvous point was anything but tranquil. Quicksilver was pacing. Domino and Avalanche hung back, well out of his range.

"Where have you been!" Pietro exploded. To Remy, he seemed irrationally angry, frightened almost—like he had been convinced that Remy and Rogue weren't coming back. Did he think Rogue had run away? It was all the confirmation Remy needed to know that Rogue really was the end game in Seattle. Now all he needed to know was why, though seeing the aftereffects of her mutation had given him a pretty good idea: she'd _become_ that man, if only for a little while. Remy could only imagine the possibilities for those in the intelligence-gathering community.

Remy saw Rogue's shoulders tense up, and the small upturn of her mouth disappeared. She started to say something, but Remy shifted slightly, blocking her from Pietro's view and cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"C'n we talk 'bout it on the way?" Remy facetiously quoted Quicksilver's earlier words. "We got a train t' catch."

Pietro's face darkened. Domino uncharacteristically stood stone-faced while Avalanche stepped forward.

"You got it? The schedule?" He looked impressed.

"_Mais oui_."

"I wasn't finished!" Pietro inserted angrily.

"He means yes," Avalanche translated. "Let's go."

Remy bowed his acquiescence. He turned to start off, discreetly grabbing Rogue's wrist to tug her along.

"Leggo," Rogue hissed under her breath, quiet so the others wouldn't hear. Remy pulled until Rogue was even with him before complying.

"Y' got to lead th' way, _chère_. You got the intel, not me."

Remy glanced backwards; Avalanche trailed behind them, Domino silently following while Pietro stubbornly stood his ground.

"Ah can take care o' mahself," Rogue insisted, her voice still low.

"Sure y' can," Remy agreed.

Rogue stopped walking and Remy felt her glare on his back. He continued walking, breath held, while she decided what to do.

"Y'all comin'?" he finally heard her call to the others. He heard a whoosh of air that meant Pietro had zoomed forward. Avalanche was chuckling slightly, his heavier footsteps indicating he was also following. Oddly, though, Remy didn't hear any sign of Domino. He looked over his shoulder discreetly—she was right there with the others, but he couldn't hear her foot falls. He made a mental note of that and filed it away.

"That was some stunt you pulled, Rogue," Pietro spat. Rogue bristled.

"We got it, didn't we?"

"She's right, Pietro," Domino agreed flatly. "Calm down." Remy frowned at Domino, who seemed a bit more reserved than she had before been when confronted with Quicksilver's tantrums. Where was the sarcasm?

Pietro didn't respond, but he still looked angry. Fortunately, though, without any further arguing from Quicksilver, the tension dissipated, and they found the train Rogue had seen in the rail employee's mind without further incident.

Once aboard the train, Rogue faded quickly; she was asleep within ten minutes. Remy wasn't altogether surprised—she'd had a roller coaster of a day, and since using her powers seemed to be especially taxing, he had expected as much.

What he hadn't expected was the feeling of relief it gave him.

* * *

Logan sniffed impatiently, attempting to distract himself by puzzling through the details again, hoping he had missed something.

After that initial flash, Emma hadn't gotten anything else about Rogue from Cerebro. Why was Rogue using her powers? And what was the Brotherhood doing in Chicago? None of it made sense to him.

In the train yard the Brotherhood had come through, each member's scent scattered in a different direction—except for Rogue's. She hadn't been alone; someone had followed her, someone whom he had smelled before: Gambit. Logan followed their trail to a control tower, Shadowcat trailing behind him. Gambit had gone inside the tower, but Rogue had stayed outside.

"Shadowcat, phase in and check it out."

She nodded once before slipping through the wall. A few minutes later, she returned, a frown on her face.

"Well?"

"It's so… normal. I didn't find anything." She paused and Logan growled in frustration. "I don't get it. What were they looking for?"

"I don't know," Logan admitted angrily. He turned away from Kitty, a hard knot of desperation starting to settle in his stomach. Warning from the professor or not, he was beginning to think that he wouldn't be able to stop whatever was happening.

"Logan," Beast's voice came through their communicator, "You'd better take a look at this."

"Hank," Wolverine warned.

"It's Domino. She's unconscious."

* * *

"It's me."

"Did you make the switch?"

"Easily. These poor children have no idea."

"You were young, once."

"But never so naïve."

"What did you do with the girl?"

"Don't concern yourself. By the time she wakes up, it'll be too late."

"As I expected, I suppose."

"It's for the best."

"I know. How… what about _her_?"

"Overworked, I would guess."

"It is worse than we thought?"

"These idiots have no idea what they're provoking."

"She… Is she alright? Should we—"

"This changes nothing. I'll see you in Seattle."

"I—of course."

* * *

Translations

_chère_ dear, darling

_ouais_ yeah

_tante_ aunt

_frère_ brother

_Bon appétit_ literally "good appetite", it is commonly stated at the beginning of a meal

_chérie_ dear, darling

_Mais oui._ Of course.


End file.
